


'Til Tonight Do Us Part

by alexenglish



Series: Tumblr Fic [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Artist!Derek, Car Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Suit Kink, trophy boy!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is used to seeing people in suits. Every school he’s ever gone to required a blazer, slacks, and a Windsor knot. He’s no stranger to black tie events, not between his mother’s charity auctions and his own gallery openings. That being said, none of that prepared him to see Stiles in a suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Til Tonight Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> For the Heather's Sentence Prompt meme: "You’re just so hot tonight. I can’t control myself." + Sterek 
> 
> There really isn't enough suit kink in this fandom. What's up with that? Honestly, guys.

 

Derek is used to seeing people in suits. Every school he’s ever gone to required a blazer, slacks, and a Windsor knot. He’s no stranger to black tie events, not between his mother’s charity auctions and his own gallery openings. That being said, none of that prepared him to see Stiles in a suit. 

Stiles, who wears t-shirts and hoodies, ratty jeans and rattier sneakers. (When he bothers with clothes at all. On his best days, he wears nothing and Derek draws the lines of his muscle in the sunlight.) He never wears suits. He has never worn a suit or a tuxedo, he never bothered with prom. This suit had to be tailored and bought especially for him because he doesn’t own one. That alone blows Derek’s mind, but not nearly as much as seeing Stiles in one.

It’s not a complicated suit. It’s charcoal with a light striped undershirt and a skinny, black tie, but it’s tailored to perfection. The way it accents the narrowness of Stiles’ waist makes Derek’s hands ache to grip his hips. The pants hug his thighs and ass perfectly -- Derek’s mouth hasn’t stopped watering since Stiles stepped out of the bathroom and playfully spun around to model the damn thing. 

“You’re all hands tonight,” Stiles admonishes as Derek presses him into a secluded corner to bite at his neck. It’s not the first time he’s done it and it won’t be the last. “I’ve been counting, you’ve grabbed my ass 8 times since we’ve been here.”

“You’re just so hot tonight. I can’t control myself. Is that a bad thing?” Derek asks, but keeps him from answering by pressing their lips together. He wants to fuck off the whole gallery opening and peel Stiles out of his suit, piece by piece.

“No,” Stiles snorts, sounding breathless as they part. His long fingers stroke paths through Derek’s hair. “I figured the high society types wouldn’t appreciate something like idle groping.”

“It’s my gallery opening.” 

“Touché,” Stiles manages, before Derek kisses him again, a desperate press of their mouths. They’re probably not going to be alone for very long. People keep insisting on talking to Derek. It’s hard to follow the conversation when he gets to stand next to Stiles with Stiles looking the way that he does. Derek pulls away and runs his thumb down Stiles’ cheek. Stiles bites at it quickly and slides his tongue over it, wet and dirty. Derek’s eyelashes flutter at the sensation. 

“I think your dick is ruining the lines of your suit,” Stiles teases, hand sliding over where Derek is aching in his pants. Derek thrusts into his touch, groaning. “I think I’ll have to take care of that for you.”

“You’re not making me come on a two thousand dollar suit, Stiles,” Derek says, even though he really, really wants to not care about that right now.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Stiles purrs. 

 

 

“You’re such a little shit,” Derek says, even as he presses Stiles down against the seat of the car. The radio is louder than Derek usually allows, the partition firmly sealed against their shenanigans as the driver takes them away from the gallery and all of Derek’s paintings. He’s going to get so much shit for ditching the opening tomorrow. 

“I can’t believe you had to talk to that dude while you had a boner,” Stiles giggles, hands working at the knot of the tie, knuckles brushing Derek’s throat in a way that’s making his skin tighten with anticipation. He drags it over Derek’s head before he kisses him, enthusiastic tongue dipping into Derek’s mouth to slick the way. “I thought you were going to die of mortification.”

For all that Derek dreamed of taking his time with Stiles’ suit, he doesn’t hesitate to shove the jacket off his broad shoulders and push it onto the floor before shoving Stiles back against the door. The back seat is large, but Stiles is miles of limbs that have to be folded into position so that they both fit. Derek grinds the lines of their cocks together as Stiles tries to work open his buttons. Derek has their chests pressed together, enjoying the wet heat of his mouth, but Stiles is determined, wiggling his fingers between them carefully to unhook the buttons without popping any.

“You owe me one,” Derek says, not sure if it’s a decent response. Stiles’ hands are finally under his shirt, stroking over his ribs and hips. The touch is driving Derek crazy, making his nerves light up. He feels drunk, head swimming with desire. There’s an ache under his skin, a feeling of want that’s been simmering ever since Stiles stepped out of the bathroom in his goddamn, gorgeous suit. 

“I’m going to give you an orgasm, does that count?” Stiles asks, cocky and infuriating, beautiful all the same. Derek swipes his thumb on Stiles’ cheekbone before reeling him in for a longer, harder kiss. “I’m going to make you come so hard you don’t remember anyone’s name, but mine.”

Derek wants to tell him that he’s already halfway there, but he doesn’t have the words for it, he just groans against Stiles’ bruised mouth and works his belt open with clumsy hands. Stiles likes to describe Derek as graceful and sure, but with Stiles it feels as if he’s constantly wobbling. The tremor in his hands isn’t anxiety, it’s excitement, and Derek is overwhelmed with it. It’s not the first time, but it is at the same time. The first time Derek has invited Stiles along to an opening, the first time Stiles has worn a suit. This will be the first time Derek’s fucked in the back of this particular car like he’s an impatient teenager on his first date. 

It doesn’t take long for Stiles to shove Derek’s all too-expensive pants down to the middle of his thighs and pull Derek’s dick out, working his hand over the velvety shaft. Derek moans at the contact, the feeling of Stiles’ sure grip is enough to make his thighs tremble as he tries to keep himself upright between Stiles’ splayed legs. There’s a cramp in his back from bending low to avoid the ceiling of the car, but he could care less at this point.

“I swear to god, if you get cum on either of our suits, you’re paying me back,” Derek threatens. It’s an empty threat, they both know, but Derek feels like it’s a necessary threat as Stiles smiles slyly and twist his wrist in just the right way. 

“Don’t act like you give two shits about your suit with my hand on your cock,” Stiles says. Derek’s leaking, he’s been leaking, precum slicking the way for Stiles’ skilled hand. “You’re so wet, Derek. I’ve never seen a dick get this wet, you’re so fucking --” 

Stiles interrupts himself by kissing Derek again, biting his lips as he jacks him harder, his other hand dipping low to stroke against Derek’s balls. Derek thrusts into his hand, but it’s hard to do with his pants trapping his legs and limiting his movements. It was probably a planned maneuver on Stiles’ part, to keep Derek exactly where he wants him, to distract him. 

Derek manages to get Stiles’ dick out of his pants nonetheless. He doesn’t bother with any teasing touches, he just starts with a tight grip that has Stiles hissing and thrusting up, rhythm on Derek’s cock momentarily forgotten. Derek licks his hand to ease the way and just goes at it, hard and fast in the way that guarantees to have Stiles on the edge in no time. 

“Jesus, you’re not fucking around,” Stiles whines, hips thrusting into Derek, unable to keep still. His mouth has gone slack with pleasure, red and shiny, brow furrowed in concentration. Derek knows he’s getting close, all that’s coming out of his mouth is a series of loud curse words, punctuated by Derek’s name. He seems to have forgotten about Derek’s dick entirely, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the way his breath catches in his throat, the way he says Derek’s name so needy, as he comes between them. 

Derek doesn’t let him breathe, he fists his hand in Stiles’ hair and drives their mouths together roughly. Stiles groans and grabs at his dick again, pumping it, enthusiastic and perfect. It doesn’t take too long, all Derek has to do is concentrate on the tight sensation of Stiles’ fist, the way he’s panting from his orgasm still, his teeth against Derek’s pulse, and he’s completely fucking gone. The orgasm is punched out of him with with so much force that his cum jumps up between them. It catches in Stiles’ hair, the corner of his mouth, his chin. When Derek looks down, he can see spots of cum on the seat between them and, to his dismay, his suit jacket that he never thought to take off. 

Stiles bursts out laughing, braying like a donkey, cheeks pink.

“Oh my god --”

“Don’t,” Derek warns, stripping the jacket and dumping it on Stiles’ before he uses his tongue to lick the cum off Stiles’ still-laughing mouth. Stiles hums in amusement before kissing him. “Fuck, two thousand --”

“ _So_ worth it,” Stiles breathes into his mouth. Derek can’t actually disagree. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
